


how you look in the glow of the evening

by helenas_forehead



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drawing, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenas_forehead/pseuds/helenas_forehead
Summary: The first time he drew Bran was the day after he had been crowned. He couldn’t resist immortalising that look with a sketch of the new King, crown on his head, eyes sparkling with the promise of just leadership. That drawing holds a special place in Pod’s heart, as it sparks a habit he’s soon unable to break.---Podrick likes to draw. He especially likes to draw Bran.





	how you look in the glow of the evening

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from the lovely this-is-not-what-i-expect on tumblr <3
> 
> send me more brandrick, i'm baby-babeyy on tumblr and i'm thirsty for things to write
> 
> title credit to king-brandrick on tumblr, once again being a hero

It’s been a long time since Podrick had been able to draw. He’d spent years away from the relative comfort of Kings Landing, travelling and fighting for what felt like an eternity. His whole life had revolved around being a squire, training, learning to become a knight, it was almost difficult to remember a time when he held anything other than a sword.

 

Now, the wars have all been won and he’s back in Kings Landing. Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard. Brienne told him it had a nice ring to it. He agreed.

 

Serving King Bran is the highest honour he could imagine. He hadn’t thought of joining the goldcloaks, not until that day in the dragon pit when Bran was chosen as their next king. Podrick had no real love for Robert Baratheon, certainly not enough to devote his life to protecting him, and he’d have sooner taken the black and lived his days freezing up on the wall than have to take orders from the monster that was King Joffrey.

 

But he’d met Bran up North in Winterfell, and instantly knew he was nothing like most Westerosi men. The level of calm he exuded was almost frightening at first but after talking to him more he saw the warmth and gentleness underneath the intense stare. He enjoyed spending his time with Bran, he was more interesting to Podrick than so many of the others. He had no interest in arbitrary politics or worrying about the inevitable. He’d find Bran sat in the godswood, or by the fire inside, or the courtyard watching everyone prepare for battle, and he’d sit by his side and ask what he could see. Bran always humoured him with stories about pirates from Pentos, or dornishmen battling on the southern beaches. Realistically Pod knows it was all to humour him, to take his mind off of the fight that was steadily approaching, but he didn’t mind. He likes to think it comforted Bran as well, giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the burden of being the three eyed raven -and what a burden it was.

 

It was the night before the Battle of Winterfell that Pod had asked him what it actually meant to be the three eyed raven. The explanation he got was tricky to follow and didn’t make much sense, but Bran’s words stuck with him.

 

“It’s like I’m swimming in the sea, but instead of water, I’m hit by wave after wave of memories. Everything that ever happened to anyone washing over me constantly. At first it was like a storm, never letting up, no direction to it - I was bombarded with boundless knowledge.” An almost pained look took over his face then.

“When I’m so surrounded by everyone else’s memories, it’s hard to remember who I am, where I’ve been, what I’ve done. I’m getting better at controlling it now, like the water’s stilling, and I can finally choose where to look.” He’d said, voice hardly more than a whisper.

“I’m starting to remember myself. You know I wasn’t always this boring, Podrick.”

 

There’d been a twinkle in his eye then, though it quickly disappeared back to the usual blank stare; he imagined that was a glimpse of the Bran Stark that had lived in the halls of Winterfell in years gone by. His fingers had itched for paper, some way to capture the flash in those eyes that was so rare to see, but instead they found a dragonglass blade and spent the following hours confronting the dead.

 

—————————————————-

 

The first time he drew Bran was the day after he had been crowned. ‘Bran the Broken’ Tyrion had called him, though Pod disputed that somewhat. Bran hadn’t ever seemed broken to him, even more so now with his newly made crown on his head. Bran was anything but broken - he looked whole. He recognised a look in the young King’s eyes that he’d seen that night in Winterfell, like he’d finally come back to himself. Once he’d taken the King to his chambers and helped him to bed, he couldn’t resist immortalising that look with a sketch of Bran, crown on his head, eyes sparkling with the promise of just leadership. That drawing holds a special place in Pod’s heart, as it sparks a habit he’s soon unable to break.

 

——————————————————-

 

He draws Bran again a few weeks later. They’d been walking through the gardens and Bran had asked him to stop next to a bush of bright blue flowers; Pod recognised them as winter roses. Bran didn’t have to say anything to let Podrick know he’s thinking of home. Winterfell in the snow. His sisters, the Queen in the North and the explorer. His brother, now one of the Free Folk. It’s unlikely he’ll see them again anytime soon. Bran turned and looked at Pod then, silhouetted by the winter roses, a bittersweet smile on his face. That image is one Pod couldn’t help but put to memory, and when he returned to his room later that day he didn’t even remove his armour before he’s sketching away. This drawing has a special place in his collection as it’s the first he added colour to, the frosty blue making a perfect contrast with the King’s ivory skin and dark hair.

 

——————————————————-

 

When Bran’s hair starts to grow, Podrick nearly uses up all the paper in the capital.

 

——————————————————

 

Podrick’s favourite drawing of Bran is probably the most intimate. It’d been a long day, meeting with the small council, seeing Lords and Ladies from all over the Six Kingdoms, a trip down the the harbour with Ser Davos to deal with some sort of ship emergency Pod doesn’t quite pay attention to. By the time he’s escorting Bran back to his chambers, he’s almost asleep in his chair. Pod helps him change, and Bran’s barely conscious enough to lift his own arms, his eyes dropping every few seconds. He lifts the king into his bed, covering him with the soft blankets, then turns to go. Before he can however, Bran, eyes still closed, reached out for his arm and pulls him towards him.

 

“Podrick?” He whispers, voice croaky from tiredness.

 

“Yes Bran?”

 

“Stay? Until I fall asleep?” Bran opens his eyes then, silently pleading. Podrick’s helpless to resist that look.

 

“Of course Your Grace.” He says, climbing onto the bed next to Bran.

 

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that, Pod.” Bran groans, taking hold of Pod’s arm and pulling to close to himself as he settles down into the bed, already drifting off to sleep.

 

He lies with his head on the pillow for what could be minutes, could be hours, Pod doesn’t know, just watching Bran fall into a deep sleep. His hair, now brushing his shoulders, is fanned around him against the pillow like a dark halo. His eyelashes look criminally long where they brush against his ever pale cheeks. Pod catalogues every detail of the King’s beautiful face, and when he finally slips out of the room back to his own, he replicates it all perfectly. It’s vulnerable and intimate and Bran, their godly, omniscient King, looks so shockingly human.

 

Pod thinks he might be just a little bit in love.

 

——————————————————-

 

In hindsight, it was silly of him to think he could have any secrets from Bran. He’s so different now from when they first met that Pod sometimes forgets he’s still the three eyed raven, now he’s just Bran Stark as well. Bran can see everything so Pod’s not sure why he’s so shocked when Bran turns to him one day as they’re sat reading together in the King’s chamber and says, “So when are you going to show me your drawings of me?”

 

Pod chokes on air, and feels himself flush bright red. He panics, worrying that Bran will be angry with him, that he’ll be sent away from the kingsguard and have to flee to Essos for harassing the King of the Six Kingdoms, and jumps up to apologise.

 

“Your Grace, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I won’t do it ever again, if you want someone else as your guard I completely understand, I’ll ask Brienne to post me elsewhere in the city-“

 

Bran watches him ramble nervously for a moment, an amused smile inching across his face, before he stops Pod with a raised hand.

 

“Firstly Pod, you haven’t called me ‘Your Grace’ in months, please don’t start doing it again.”

 

Pod nods furiously, stood before Bran with his eyes downcast, like a child being chastised.

 

“Secondly, I never said I was offended. As a matter of fact, I’m flattered.” At that Pod raises his eyes to shyly look at Bran.

 

“F-flattered?” He stammers.

 

“Of course Pod,” Bran replies, smiling kindly. “I only want to know, why do you like drawing me so much?”

 

Pod blushes with embarrassment once more, but he can’t lie to Bran.

 

“You’re beautiful, Bran.” Pod says quietly, looking into his King’s eyes.

 

Brans cheeks flush lightly at that, and he fights off a small smile, before steeling himself.

 

“Come here Pod.” He says flatly, but he can’t help a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Pod hurries closer to Bran, kneeling down in front of his chair, looking up at Bran expectantly.

 

Bran doesn’t say anything, he just slides a hand around the back of Pod’s neck, pulling him so they’re face to face, only a hairsbreadth apart. For a moment they stay there, looking into each other eyes, before Bran moves his hand up into Pod’s hair and joins their lips together.

 

Podrick melts into the kiss, moving one hand to grip Bran’s free one, and his other to cup his cheek gently. The kiss is soft and sweet and so Bran and Podrick. When they break apart, they press their foreheads together, giggling gingerly.

 

“So does this mean you’ll pose for me next time I want to draw you?”

 

——————————————————-

 

They keep it between themselves for a long time. Podrick shows Bran all of the drawings he’s done of him; Bran blushes and pretends he isn’t melting at how sweet Podrick is.

 

Now that Bran knows, Pod starts carrying his drawing things with him when they go out, and his collection grows exponentially. He’s forever stopping Bran, telling him not to move as he starts sketching. Bran, in appropriate fashion, pretends to be endlessly frustrated by Pod’s insistence.

 

They also grow closer and closer as time goes by, spending almost every moment of the day together. More often than not Bran will ask Podrick to stay with him when he goes to bed, and who is Pod to say no to his King? Endless nights are spend cuddled together, arms around each other, heads burrowed in shoulders, and gentle kisses exchanged until sleep takes them both.

 

No one suspects a thing, or so they’d choose to believe, until it comes time for Bran to have a portrait painted of him. Tyrion finds supposedly the best artist in the capital, but when the painting’s unveiled to the small council, there’s something off with it.

 

They stand around staring at it, Tyrion humming thoughtfully.

 

“I just don’t think it… captures you, Your Grace.” He says, after a time.

 

Davos scoffs, “It looks nothin’ like him!”

 

Bran knows they’re right. The artistry is beautiful, there’s no denying it, but it’s not quite the amazing depiction of him they’d all hoped for.

 

“Well, nothin’ to be done about it now,” Bronn interjects, “She was the best artist in the six bloody kingdoms, no ones gonna do a better job.”

 

The council hum their agreement, but still eye the painting with slight distaste. Bran turns to Podrick, who smiles gently at him as if to cheer him up. That gives Bran an idea.

 

“I know someone who could,” he announces, “Paint a better portrait, that is.”, he clarifies when he’s met with confused glances. “Our very own Ser Podrick. He’s captured my face brilliantly countless times, I don’t see why he shouldn’t again.”

 

Tyrion sends Pod off to collect a sample of his drawings, and when he returns, he takes a seat next to Bran, who takes his hand discreetly, squeezing it reassuringly while they’re all stood around admiring Pod’s work, Brienne and Davos occasionally casting knowing looks their way.

 

“Well,” Tyrion says after a while, “Looks like we’ve found someone to paint our King’s new portrait.” He shoots Pod a proud smile, before bowing to Bran and leaving the room.

Everyone begins to file out, Bronn unsuccessfully attempting to sneak out a handful of Pod’s drawings to sell in the city. Brienne gives Pod a squeeze on the shoulder as she leaves, wearing a small grin on her face.

 

When they’re finally left alone, Pod pulls Bran close to him, hugging him tight.

 

“Thank you, I hope I don’t disappoint you.” He says softly in Bran’s ear.

 

Bran pulls back, holding Podrick by the shoulder to look him in the eye.

 

“You could never disappoint me Podrick.” He says earnestly. He pulls Pod in for a quick kiss, which turns into another, and another, until their lips have been locked together for a fair few minutes. Studying Bran’s features, the ones he knows so well now and has recreated on paper countless times - the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, the v of his Cupid’s bow- he can’t hold himself back.

 

“I love you Bran,” he says, “I really do.”

 

Bran’s eyes soften, and he pecks Podrick on the forehead sweetly.

 

“I love you too, Podrick. More than you can know.”

 

———————————————————

 

If Brienne, Davos, and Tyrion are all watching through the door they never mention it. Nor do they mention the tears they all have to mop up before they head off to complete their duties.


End file.
